


Ivy's Tumblr Drabbles - Part One

by Ivy_Adair



Series: Ivy's Tumblr Drabbles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Bitterness, Blind Character, Blindness, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble Collection, Epitaph, F/M, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied Relationships, Magical Accidents, Memories, Other, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Adair/pseuds/Ivy_Adair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herein lies the archive of my tumblr prompts and fills that ran from 3/22/15 - 3/25/15.</p><p>1: The epitaph on Cullen Rutherford's gravestone.<br/>2: Write as long of a story as you can with each word being longer than the next.<br/>3: Cullen suddenly goes blind, describe his world before and after.<br/>4: Varric is injured, without using the letters 'u' or 'e' write about it.<br/>5: Carver Hawke suddenly goes blind.<br/>6: Write a story where the last line is "the world would be better off without fish."<br/>7: Bethany in prison.<br/>8: Countdown from twenty with Tamlen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He was Loved

**Author's Note:**

> With special thanks to everyone who submitted a prompt to me! It was a lot fun and I plan on doing more of these in the future. 
> 
> I had people submit me a number, 1-29 and a dragon age character and here are the results :)
> 
> As is implied by the title, all of these works are also located on my tumblr. [Come say Hi to me](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com). :)

**Character: Cullen Rutherford  
Prompt: 50 words precisely. Words on a gravestone.**

* * *

 

Beneath this stone, lies Cullen Rutherford.  
A beloved husband to Evelyn;  
Devoted father to Amelia, Maxwell and Gregory.  
A good man.  
One who stood against the darkness of the world.  
And succeeded in turning the tide.  
He stood fast when others fell.  
He lived a full life

And was loved.

[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114338072282/with-thanks-to-ravenclawnerd)


	2. Alistair is a Dork

**Character: Alistair Theirin  
Prompt: Write as long of a short story as you can with each word being longer than the next. **

* * *

 

“I, um, can keep yours,” voiced Alistair.  
  
****  
  
“I am…mad!”  
  
“What?” Wynne sighed.  
  
“Zevran’s flirting.”  
  
****  
  
I am mad, half crazy. Elissa giggles; adorable, beautiful. Astounding.

 

[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114343654182/so-im-an-idiot-this-is-an-established-fact-at)


	3. A Brave Face, For Her.

**Character: Cullen Rutherford**

**Prompt: Your character suddenly goes blind. Without using any words for that involve darkness (these include synonyms for black) describe how they see the world now vs. How they used to see it.**

* * *

  
  
He could hear the tears in her voice as she tried to keep her words as even and impassive as possible. She was trying to make him feel like nothing had changed. Yet, she’d never spoken to him so neutrally in the entire time he’d known her. Still, he supposed he should be grateful for the attempt and Cullen was far too much of a gentleman to let her think that he was anything but grateful. She blamed herself, which was ridiculous, but Cullen knew he could hardly stop her. Once the Inquisitor had set her mind to something, it was impossible to deter her.  
  
It had happened so suddenly.  
  
He and the Inquisitor were having a rare private moment, a picnic, just the two of them. Despite Corypheus’s defeat some three months back, the two workaholics had been hard-pressed to find the time away from their duties to just be together. So when the opportunity had arisen, they’d both jumped at the chance for an outing.  
  
That was the key; they both had wanted to go. In the Inquisitor’s mind, however, the idea had been entirely hers.  
  
Their modest meal had been eaten; their too-warm wine drunk and the Inquisitor had made the not-so-subtle hint that she had always wanted to make love underneath the shade of a willow, when the first of the Red Templar stragglers attacked. They’d been caught off guard, naturally. His hands had to scramble from the Inquisitor’s breast to the hilt of his sword. The Inquisitor, shirt quite unbuttoned, had to search frantically for her staff while Cullen leapt into action. Yet another item on the list of the things she took the blame for. Blame could be argued all around, but what he knew above all was his fault, was the fact that he had left Skyhold without his shield.  
  
He didn’t know that the Red Templar Horrors could loose red lyrium crystals from their bodies like corrupted arrows.  
  
Cullen was trained a Templar and a Templar relied on a shield.  
  
He took three of those crystals directly to his face. In one instant the world was a bright mass of frenetic, glittering color and in the next, there was simply nothing there at all. He wasn’t sure if he screamed, but he heard the Inquisitor’s screams mixing with the guttural death rattles of corrupted former-men and the smell of burning flesh. It was odd, as the door to his sight closed; it was as if the others had opened wider. Sounders were sharper, smells were stronger and the sensation of the Inquisitor’s soft palm against his cheek was enough to pull him from the sensation of the liquid fire in his eyes. She was speaking and he could hear the frenzy in her tone, but her words fell into his ears like a hollow drum. He panicked, suddenly realizing that he couldn’t remember her face. He called her name frantically, fingers groping in the empty space where his vision once was, reaching for her face.  
  
His fingers hit skin that was softer than he remembered. The flesh was pulled taut and tightly angled, her jaw, he realized. A soft knob that jutted forward was her chin and a little higher laid the beautiful lips he’d pressed against his at least once every morning and once every night since they’d been together. They were moving wildly, two lumps that pulled together and flew apart as she spoke. Her nose was a flexible angle; flesh the wielded to his frenetic touch. His finger spread out to find…wetness? She was crying. The pads of this thumbs pushed the wetness away and slowly he caressed his fingers higher to her eyes. What color were they? There was no way to tell with his fingers and he wanted to ask her, but couldn’t quite form the words. He built the picture in his mind, trying to remember the way all her features melded together. He could remember that she was beautiful, but he knew he’d never be able to describe her. And now, with the yawning chasm sprawled before his mind’s eye, Cullen knew he’d have to put on a brave face, for her.  
  


[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114350438062/cullenrutherforded-answered-your-question)


	4. Marian Will Fix Him

**Character: Varric Tethras  
Prompt: Your character has just broken every bone in their body, how did it happen? Do not use the letters ‘u’ or ‘e’. **

* * *

 

Varric was dying. That sodding bastard, Orsino had thrown him far as if Varric was simply a gnat flying across his vision. His own blood flows in front of his vision. Why, of all things, did Orisno go with ‘blood magic horror’? Now, Varric lay still, pain slipping across his body. Marian had flown to him, wild and crying as soft hands, glowing bright drift along his body. His skin will stitch back, in a bit. All that is important is that Orisno is slain and Marian will fix him, as always.

[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114355271782/randomch-answered-your-question-another-request)


	5. He's Always Known

**Character: Carver Hawke  
Prompt: Your character suddenly goes blind. Without using any words for that involve darkness (these include synonyms for black) describe how they see the world now vs. how they used to see it. **

* * *

 

Marian’s soft hands about his face are really starting to piss him off. He swats at her, but knows from the way his hands arc through the open air that he’s missed her by a mile. Maker fucking take him, this was just not fucking fair. It was as if the Maker was content with simply lopping parts off of Carver at will. He’d lost half of himself when Bethany had been killed by that fucking ogre. In an instant, that unspoken connection with the sister he’d shared everything with had been rent and cauterized with the brutality of his mother’s biting words about Marian being the one to blame; not the sodding darkspawn, but Marian.   
  
Now, it was his vision. His maker-forsaken eyes had been taken from him. Why? It was cruel and unworthy, but he can’t stop the traitorous thoughts from creeping into his head about how a mage didn’t need their eyes the way a swordsman does. The way a Templar does. Certainly Marian, for all her magey prowess, could throw her fireballs with this vast emptiness in front of her? Not him, not Carver and now, he had nothing left.   
  
His sister tuts softly, but stays her tongue. She’s all soft comfort and tenderness now, but he knows his sister and Marian is not Bethany. With Marian, the softness is something she draws on when needed. It’s almost eerie the way his sister can shift between personalities. Bethy, though, Bethy was nice all the time. She was the softness of their whole, the sweet to his surly and sour. There wasn’t a soul on the planet that didn’t like her. As he grew older, without her, he tried to be the whole instead of the half. Some days he succeeded, some days he didn’t.   
  
He can feel another set of hands on his face, pulling his eyelids open. He’d taken to keeping his eyes shut most of the time, not yet used to the blank void where his vision once was. When he does open his eyes, he still expects to see the world, as he knew it. When he doesn’t, he panics. The new set of hands are not as soft as Marian’s but they lack the calluses and roughness of anyone whose wielded a weapon in their lives. They’re larger too, so, has to be Anders. He wonders what the mage thinks of being asked to heal a Templar- no, former Templar, he corrects.  
  
There’s no point, not really; Carver may not be a healer but there’s just this little voice inside of him that knows.   
  
He had been on patrol, just walking around the apprentice dorms and maintaining the required Templar presence when he heard the scuffle. He took off in a quick jog, silverite jangling as he made his way swiftly down the hall. Apprentices, especially the young ones, sometimes had trouble reigning in their magic when their emotions ran high and Carver knew from experience that it was better if he found them before one of his other, less understanding counterparts did. He rounded a corner just as a fireball shot out of a young apprentice’s wildly gesturing hand. The spell went wide and, well, here he was now.   
  
You just can’t take mage-fire to the face and come out unscathed.   
  
The apprentice was put to the sword that night and Carver was shown the door the following day. Now, he’s stuck in Marian’s mansion in a forgotten corner of the massive home, relying on others to help him do the things he learned how to do before his 5th name day. Anders’ hands leave his face and he knows, like he’s always known.   
  
“It’s permanent. There’s nothing I can do.”  
  


 

[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114367358567/nerkartist-replied-to-your-post-another-request)


	6. The World Would Be Better Off Without Fish

**Character: Cole  
Prompt: Write about anything, but it must end with the sentence: “The world would be better off without fish.”**

* * *

 

Cole’s shoes sat on the bank beside him as he dipped his toes into the cool water of the river. It felt…odd, like a wet caress that left him feeling colder instead of warmer. Varric had insisted he try it, called it a rite of passage in his journey to become a person. He tried to stop looking, to stop hearing the echoes within the people around him. But, there were days when it was harder to control and the past pains and memories were so loud. Like now, as he stared at Varric the words echoed in his mind and bubbled out of his lips before he could stop them.   
  
“His hair a white streak as he careens across the battlefield, always moving in front of her. Red at his wrist, he looks at her with longing but never acts. Why?” Cole blinked and inclined his head towards his dwarven companion. “You miss them. You think about the memories that hurt, because they bring you a step closer to the way things used to be.”  
  
“Eh, it’s part of life, kid. You always long for the good ol’ days.”  
  
Cole’s gaze returned to the river as he felt a soft nibble against his toes. “Fish, fish and more fish, Broody grumbles. The world would be better off without fish.”

 

[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114373686727/cassandra-allegra-answered-your-question)


	7. Alone

**Character: Bethany Hawke  
Prompt: Your character sits in a prison cell, reliving how they wound up there. **

* * *

 It was cold inside the cell. In the distant deep, dark recesses of the dungeon, she could hear…nothing. That’s what frightened her the most. If there had been the sounds of others, prisoners or guards then she wouldn’t have felt so-  
  
So…  
  
Alone.  
  
Bethany shivered and curled up on the small wooden plank that served as the bed. She brought her knees to her chest, hugging her shins as she silently pled to the Maker to keep her eyes dry. She may have lost the control of her freedom, she may have lost the use of her magic thanks to the routine Silences, but Maker take her if she was going to lose control over her own body. She clenched her pricking eyes shut and began to rock herself gently, back and forth. It was a comforting habit, the rocking; a rare thing from her childhood that had been hers alone. Carver had sought his comfort in a blanket that had eventually wound up as a string he kept perpetually tied around his wrist.  
  
No, no don’t think of Carver. Don’t think of Carver!  
  
Maker, why did it have to be so silent? It was as if they had enchanted the room to block out all the sounds but the ones she generated herself and the occasional crackle and of the single torch on the stone wall that was her only source of light. In the tiny universe that was her cell, she had no way of tracking the passage of time. Bethany wasn’t sure how many hours or minutes or days or years she’d been down in the tiny room. All she had was the solitude of her mind and the soft, gentle rocking motion she made as she sat on the wooden plank.  
  
Her thoughts drifted. Twisting, pulling into the darkest corners of her mind and tried to draw out the dark things she preferred to keep hidden. The bitter feeling in her chest when she thought of why she had to be the one the Maker cursed with magic. Well, cursed, if the sisters at the chantry in Lothering were to be believed. The act of magic itself may not have been a curse, but the way it had defined the course of her life certainly had been and now, she was sitting in a dark cell awaiting an unknown fate because of the way she’d been born.  
  
She tried not to be bitter but, Maker, it was hard. It was a stupid, simple innocuous action that had led her to this point. A Templar, a young Knight who looked just a little too much like the twin she’d lost, injured in sparring. She remembered the way the cut on his thigh bled, drenching the ridiculous robes they wore under their armor with blood. It’d been thoughtless, something she’d done a thousand times with Carver, with anyone. She held her hand out, pressed it against his bleeding wound and as soon as she’d pulled at the fade, the gathered Templars had Silenced her. For pressing her hand against the Templar’s wound, for attempting to heal his injury, Bethany had been branded maleficar.  
  
Bethany still found herself wondering, as she did from time to time, what would have happened if she’d gone to the Deep Roads. Would she have still wound up in the Circle? It’d seemed like an inescapable fate, a dark figment she’d never be able to outrun. Or, the bitter voice in her mind asked, had she simply just given up?  
  
It didn’t matter, though.  
  
She’d attempted to use magic on a Templar and her hands had been covered in Templar blood.  
  
Bethany knew, just knew, that there was nothing but death awaiting her.  
  
When, finally, the door to her cell unlocked she wordlessly rose to her feet. There was no point in fighting, no point in demanding her innocence. Her please would fall on deaf ears. She held out her wrists to be bound.  
  
A rough, calloused hand pulled her fist apart and laced its fingers with hers. Bethany blinked and looked up.  
  
“Big brother?”  
  


 

[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114529406827/18-bethany)


	8. Lathbora Viran

**Character: Tamlen  
Prompt: Countdown from twenty. **

* * *

 

Twenty, the number of times they’d gone hunting together.  
Nineteen times she’d laughed at one of his stupid jokes.  
Eighteen years old, and he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.  
Seventeen times that she’d let her head rest against his shoulder while listening to Hahren Paivel’s tales.  
Sixteen days that she skipped helping Master Ilen in favor of going hunting with him.  
Fifteen times their limbs brushed against each other.  
Fourteen times their limbs brushed against each other intentionally.  
Thirteen years old, he began to see her differently.  
Twelve times they discussed the future while dressing their kills.  
Eleven longing glances across the fire.  
Ten times they’d argued, trading sharp words back and forth.  
Nine times they’d made up, touching their marked foreheads together and each whispering ‘ir abelas’ to the other.  
Eight separate occasions when he’d made a fool out of himself in front of her.  
Seven hours he’d spent with her inside Ashalle’s aravel as the clan traveled across Ferelden.  
Six times he’d almost asked her to marry him.  
Five pained smiles he’d given her when he was too craven to speak.  
Four kisses when the elders weren’t looking.  
Three of those kisses she had stolen from his lips.  
Two hearts their clan believed would unite until death.  
One, the only time Tamlen said that he loved her before her blade struck down his tainted body.  
Zero, the number of times that Mahariel had ever questioned it.

 

[Original link](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/post/114591091081/15-and-tamlen)


End file.
